Moving On
by r4ven3
Summary: Harry travels to Cyprus to see Ruth. What he finds has his re-thinking his whole life. Will he walk away, or will he fight for her? 7 chapters. Some angst, and some of the other stuff.
1. Chapter 1

The runway of Paphos International Airport appears to diminish in size, as the plane quickly ascends. From his window seat, Harry doesn't look back at the island, surrounded as it is by the bluest sea imaginable. He can't bear to. He will leave her there, knowing she is happy in her life, and that she has moved on. Now it will be his turn to move on, although he has no idea how he should go about that. He can barely remember what his life had been like before he began loving her, and the prospect that some time in the future he may no longer love her brings tears to his eyes. The idea that there may come a day when she is not his first thought as he awakes each morning is frightening to him, because it will mean that he will have lost the capacity for loving another.

He'd booked into the little hotel just off the square in Polis – the Agora Inn. He'd planned to stay for ten days, but had been prepared to spend two weeks in Cyprus, three if circumstances called for it. His replacement in Section D had been aware that Harry may be away from London for anything up to a month. He'd questioned the owners of the hotel, the woman who ran the organic fruit and vegetable stall in the market, and then, while having a coffee, he'd sat next to one of the nurses from the hospital, and this young woman had mentioned the English woman called Ruth who worked at the hospital.

"She's from London, also," the nurse had said, in perfect, but heavily accented English. "She might like to hear from someone from her home city. I think she must get homesick sometimes."

Harry had thanked her, especially after the woman had told him where to find Ruth. He'd walked along the beach to the path which led up to the white house on the headland overlooking the sea. It had been further than he'd expected, and by the time he reached the grove of trees from where he had a clear view of the house, he was panting and sweating, and his face was flushed – not exactly how he wanted to greet her after having had no contact with her for twenty months. He had to see her that day.

And see her he did.

He heard her voice before he saw her. Then he heard the voice of a boy, and then a deeper, masculine voice. Then he heard Ruth laughing. "Oh, you two!" she said. No-one had mentioned a man and a boy. Harry stayed in the shade behind some bushes, and looked towards the house.

On the patio, enjoying a meal, was his Ruth, and a dark-haired man, and a boy of about eight or nine. The man reached out to Ruth, and touched her arm, and she replied by putting her hand on his cheek, and laughing. To his eyes, she looked as beautiful as ever. Her hair was shorter, waves framing her face, and she wore a summer dress with straps over her shoulders, showing off her tanned skin. Her smile was wide, and her eyes took in the man and the boy.

"I know you're just teasing," she said lightly.

"You're so easy to tease," the man replied.

Suddenly, the boy began coughing and choking, as though he had something caught in his throat. The man quickly got up, and grabbed the boy and held him against his stomach, and pressed his hands against the boy's stomach. The boy coughed some more, and then he coughed up something and spat it on the ground.

"Are you alright, Nico?" the man asked.

The boy nodded, as Ruth bent to examine what he'd spat out. "It's a piece of bone. I should have been more careful preparing the fish," she said.

"It's not your fault," said the man, putting his free arm around her. "It's my cousin. He should have been more careful when he cleaned and filleted the fish."

Harry no longer listened to what was being said. He just watched as the man checked that the boy was alright, and then turned to Ruth – _his_ Ruth – and placed both his arms around her, and held her against him. As painful as it was to watch them, he couldn't help himself. He watched for another fifteen minutes or so, before leaving the way he came.

As he walked back to the town centre along the beach, he went through the scene at the house. There was no other way of interpreting it. It was clear that Ruth had moved on. He was tempted to check out of the hotel, and return to London that day, but it had only been four days since he'd left London, and to return so soon would be wasting his time away from work. There was one problem …... his realisation that he had lost Ruth forever - probably because of his own stupidity - and his pain at that loss could only be assuaged by working. He needed to get back to work, but he also needed to spend time away from the place which for him still held so many memories of her.

Once he reached his hotel, showered and changed his clothes, Harry had calmed down a little. His body did not respond well to the heat. He tended to overheat, and his thoughts had also become overheated. Once the sun was lower in the sky, he returned to the coffee shop where he'd met the nurse. He was pretending to read a London newspaper when he heard a voice say, in heavily accented English, "Do you mind if I join you?"

Harry folded his paper, and indicated she should sit in the chair opposite him.

"I have the next three days off. My feet will thank me," the nurse continued, smiling. "Have you caught up with the English woman? She's also taking some days off."

"I saw her," he replied, "but I didn't get to speak to her." Harry had waited before he continued. He needed to choose his words carefully. "I see she's with a man. Is she married?"

"Ruth? No. She lives with George and his son. George is a doctor at the hospital."

A doctor! That's rather stiff competition. It was then that Harry had to remind himself that he was no longer in the race, and that Ruth - _his_ Ruth – had chosen another. There was no competition. Harry had lost her long ago.

He couldn't bear to hear any more about Ruth, so he changed the subject, asking the young nurse about her work at the hospital, and once he'd finished his coffee, he excused himself, and left.

Out of some deep sense of needing to punish himself, next day Harry again walked along the beach to the path which led up to the house where Ruth lived. He waited in the shade of the grove of trees, as much from a need to cool down, as a desire to see Ruth one more time before he left the island. After about fifteen minutes, he saw her step out on to the patio with a book in her hand. He was too far away to see what kind of book she was reading. She sat on a chair beside the table, her head and shoulders in the shade, her eyes protected by sun glasses. After around five minutes, she looked up from her book, and he was sure she was looking in his direction. Harry had only just decided to come out from the trees and show himself, when he heard the man's voice, calling Ruth, and asking where she was.

"I'm on the patio," she called back, "and I'm reading, so I don't wish to be disturbed."

The man, George – he looked like a George – stepped outside, and approached Ruth from behind her chair. It was when he put his arms around her shoulders, and Ruth laughed, and slapped his arm, that Harry decided he had seen enough. There was only so much he could take. He could hide in the bushes watching Ruth for the rest of the afternoon, but his surveillance of her had left him feeling like a peeping Tom. As much as he longs to see Ruth, and to talk to her and more, he doesn't wish to observe her unseen. It's not right.

That had been three days ago. Harry had spent only seven days in Cyprus, and he'd seen Ruth for no more than a half hour, but had not spoken to her, and she had been unaware of his presence. Harry has come prepared for the four hour flight home. He plugs in his earbuds to his iPod, and takes from his carry-on luggage a 700-page murder mystery. With a Wagner opera blasting his eardrums, and a gory tale of distorted human values and behaviour filling his mind, he plans to leave no space in his head for thoughts of Ruth. Who is he kidding? He turns the page, having read twenty-five pages of the story, to realise that he has no idea what has happened so far. He has seen the words, but there has been no room in his head to absorb the narrative.

His head is filled, as usual, with thoughts of Ruth.

He is not expected back at work for another three weeks, and he has no idea how to spend that time. He is a man who likes to work. Work is the only activity which has the capacity to occupy him totally.

* * *

Harry has no sooner carried his bags into his front hallway than he notices the message light blinking on his answering machine. Five messages, all from Catherine. He decides to ring her back before he gets busy unpacking.

"Dad! It's about time. I was about to ring Mum to see whether she wants to keep me company up here on the edge of the known world."

"Which is where?"

"Hexham."

"Hexham? Why Hexham?"

"It's where Michael's folks live. I insisted we stay in a B&B, because – Dad - I'm sorry to be saying this, but I have no idea what anyone's talking about!"

For the first time in well over a week, Harry laughs aloud. His daughter, his precious little girl, who has travelled to places in the world where languages and dialects so totally different from English are spoken, is having difficulty deciphering the Northumberland accent.

"I'll be there tomorrow," he says, without giving the idea too much thought.

Ruth seemed to not want him or need him anymore, and Harry really wants to be needed by someone. He also welcomes the opportunity to get away from his familiar environment, the place where every corner, every street, even the grey sky all remind him of Ruth, and what can never be.


	2. Chapter 2

Catherine has already booked Harry a room in a small hotel closer to the centre of town. He appreciates the space this affords him, and the complete change of scenery. He needed to get out of London almost as much as he'd needed to leave Cyprus.

Harry has asked Catherine that she not share with Michael's family that he is staying in Hexham.

"I'm not up to social gatherings," he explains, "although I'm very happy to be spending time with you."

"That's a relief," she replies.

He smiles at his daughter across the dining table. Michael is spending the evening with his parents and grandparents, a gathering from which Catherine had cried off. "I hadn't known he has so many relatives. They're everywhere. I can't possibly marry him, Dad. I'd get swallowed up by the family, losing my identity in the process."

"You don't have to marry him to enjoy being with him."

"I suppose that's one of your edicts, is it?"

"Not at all. It's just that not every relationship has to end in marriage. We should all enjoy the present more, and stop stressing about the future."

"So, you don't want me married, and living in some semi in Hampstead Gardens. That's a relief."

"Your mother may want that for you, but I just want for you to be happy."

"You've changed your tune. You used to be so ambitious for Graham and me. It drove him crazy. What's changed?"

"Everything," he says quietly, suddenly remembering that his life yawns ahead of him, with no chance of Ruth ever being part of it. "I realise that I wasted a lot of opportunities – with you, with Graham, and with someone else I love."

There is a silence of some seconds while Catherine digests that information. "You have someone, then?" she says at last, her eyes attempting to gain contact with his."

"Had. Past tense. Well, almost. She's the reason I was in Cyprus."

And so Harry tells his daughter about Ruth. He tells her the whole story, from their first meeting, to his covert glimpses of her in Cyprus. Once his story is told, he looks up to see tears in Catherine's eyes.

"Oh, Dad," she says. "That is such a sad story. Are you sure she's settled with that man? Perhaps you should have spoken to her."

"I know that I should have, but I just couldn't bear to have her tell me that she's chosen this George over me, and that there will never again be a chance for us."

"Maybe he's just a summer fling."

"She's living with him."

"Maybe her house is being repaired, or decorated, and she needs somewhere to stay."

Harry reaches out and covers Catherine's hand with his own. "You must be the last of the romantics, Catherine," he says. "I know Ruth. She wouldn't be living with him out of convenience. She can be rather cautious about relationships. They didn't act in a way which suggested the relationship is casual. Besides, his child was there with them. That sounds like a committed relationship to me."

"I think we need some more wine," Catherine says, signalling the waiter.

* * *

Harry ends up staying in Hexham after Catherine and Michael leave. Michael's father, Keith, has just retired, and once Harry decides that some company might be nice after all, Keith and Harry enjoy one another's company, as they take fishing trips together along the River Tyne. Harry even accompanies Keith and his wife, Josie, on a day trip to Hadrian's Wall. For twelve days he behaves like a normal middle-aged Englishman, and he rather enjoys it, although he doubts he could maintain the same level of enthusiasm for another thirty days, let alone thirty years, as Keith and Josie are planning to.

But he can't put off returning to London. He returns to the Grid twenty five days after he'd left to go to Cyprus. Harry knows he should speak with Malcolm, but he's been putting it off ever since he returned from Cyprus. After the rest of the team have left the meeting room, Harry asks Malcolm to stay behind.

"You've been a bad lad," Ros whispers as she walks behind Malcolm on her way out of the room.

Malcolm smiles to himself, but waits until the door has closed behind she and Lucas and Jo before he speaks.

"How was Cyprus? Did you see her?"

Harry sighs heavily, pursing his lips, and in that moment, Malcolm knows that Harry's trip to Cyprus had not gone well.

"Had you known she was living with someone?" Harry asks bluntly.

"No. No, I hadn't. When last I contacted her – which was around ten months ago – she was living alone, and she was rather lonely, but she had decided to settle in Cyprus, to stay there until her name was cleared here."

"She's not lonely any more," Harry says, and then goes on to tell Malcolm what he'd discovered.

Malcolm sits back and absorbs the information. Had he known that, he would have tried to contact Ruth first. He'd only given Harry the information about where Ruth was because both he and Ruth had seemed very lonely, and he had hoped that by sending Harry to Cyprus, they could work something out between them ... some arrangement that could ensure them regular contact until her name is cleared. He had hoped that Harry's presence in Polis would be a pleasant surprise for Ruth.

"Did you speak to her?" Malcolm asks.

Harry shakes his head. "I couldn't. I couldn't bear to hear her say she loves another. I know that's selfish, and I should be happy for her – and I am – but I'm also devastated."

"Yes, I can see that." Malcolm sits back in his chair, deep in thought. "I know it would have been hard for you, but you needed to have spoken with her, Harry. Just to know for sure her situation. Had she been committed to this man, you needed to have heard her say this to your face. You needed that for …..."

"Please don't use the word closure, Malcolm. I may have to throw my head back and howl like a dog."

Malcolm smiles slightly, and then consciously removes the smile from his face. "What now?" he asks.

"Nothing, that's what. She's living with another man, and I'm …..."

"Out in the cold."

"Yes." Harry whispers the word. He hasn't wanted to accept that there is no longer any chance that he can have a life with Ruth, but he knows he must. To wait for Ruth to turn up in London looking for him is both unrealistic and naïve.

Suddenly, the door to the meeting room opens, and Ros appears in the doorway, closely followed by Connie, reading glasses perched on her nose.

"Sorry to interrupt," Ros says, "but someone must know you're back in the saddle, Harry."

Harry turns to give the two women his attention, his face open. "Where's Lucas?" he asks.

"He was called out immediately the meeting finished. He had a call from an asset he'd not heard from since before he went to Russia, so naturally, he was curious, and he left immediately. Which brings us to the phone call I received only minutes ago." Connie, uncharacteristically for her, looks anxious as her eyes flit between Harry and Malcolm.

"Well?" Harry's voice is impatient. "Are you going to tell me, or shall I begin guessing?"

"Do you remember Ed Tufnell?" Connie asks.

"Of course. He claims to have trained with the Taliban."

"That information is said to be correct. He's in the UK, and he's sent us a live feed. Turn on the overhead monitor."

Malcolm, who is nearest the controls, presses a button, and the four of them look at the screen as it bursts into life. In front of a dark grey background – possibly a concrete wall – a figure sits, trussed, hands tied behind her back, a bag over her head. Her legs are tied together at the knees, and at the ankles, and the ankles are tied to the chair. The figure is clearly female.

"I need to speak to Harry Pearce," a deep voice says from off camera. "I have something here you might want to preserve. I'm sending a car for you. You're to get in the back seat and do as you're told. Once you get here, my hostage will be released. If you refuse to cooperate, she will be dead by lunchtime. As you know, Harry, I've done this before."

"Who is it?" Ros asks, her eyes on Harry.

"That's the voice of Ed Tufnell."

"I think what Ros means," interjects Connie, "is who is the woman in the chair?"

They've all noticed how Harry's face is ashen, and a light sweat has broken out on his forehead.

"That's Catherine Townsend," he says quietly. "My daughter."

"Do we have any way of contacting Tufnell?" Ros almost shouts at Malcolm.

"It appears to be one-way only," Malcolm says calmly, more concerned for Harry. "Were you able to trace his call, Connie?"

"Not enough time. He only told us to check channel 0 for a live feed, then he hung up. Malcolm, we need to put some kind of tracking device on Harry. Perhaps his underwear, in case they strip him."

"Why does he want you, Harry? Do you have any idea?"

"Unfinished business. He blames me for the death of his son back in `98."

"That accounts for him kidnapping your daughter, then. Do you think she's in any danger?"

"I'd say she's in a lot of danger." Harry's voice is calm and quiet, as though he is keeping a tight rein on his feelings. "We have a few things to do before the car comes for me. I think we should get on with preparation for me being exchanged for my daughter."

Harry gets up, and strides out of the room to his office. "Get that tracking device sorted, Malcolm," he calls over his shoulder. "They'll probably find it and destroy it, but we have to make an effort, all the same."

Jo has followed Harry into his office. "Shall I contact C0-19, Harry?"

"Not yet."

"But if we're tracking you, we'll know where you're being held."

"It seems I should fully expect to have to change all my clothes – including underwear – somewhere between getting into that car, and being taken to my daughter. If C0-19 follow me, all they'll find will be a pile of clothing."

"So, why is Malcolm devising a tracking device to sew into your shorts?"

"Because I needed to give the man something to do," Harry replies, looking directly into Jo's eyes.

"Harry …..."

"Yes, Jo."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away."

"Do you expect to come out of this alive?"

Harry stops pulling his tie from his collar, and for a moment, looks very sad. "No, Jo. I don't."

And if Jo's instincts are serving her on his strange day, she would say that not only does Harry not expect to, but nor does he want to come out of this alive. It is as if he is looking forward to it.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Swear word warning!_**

**_Thanks for the reviews so far._**

* * *

Harry rattles off a list of tasks for Jo, including ringing his ex-wife, Jane.

"She needs to know her daughter has been kidnapped," he explains. "She'll be more polite to you than to me, and I don't expect that once I'm picked up I'll be able to make any calls to my loved ones – past or present."

For a brief moment, Jo thinks of Ruth, wondering where she is in the world, and whether she might want to know what Harry is planning. She'll wait until Harry has left, and then run that one by Malcolm. Since Zaf's disappearance, he has been the go-to man where Ruth and Harry are concerned.

* * *

"This tracking device is almost ready," Malcolm tells her, not expecting a reply.

"Harry gave me a list of people to call, Malcolm, but I think you might be better suited to the job. His ex-wife …... she'll hardly take seriously anything I have to say to her."

"Show me the list." Malcolm's eyes glance down the list of people. "I see what you mean. Okay, I'll do it. Once Harry's out of the building."

"There's just one other thing, Malcolm …..."

"Yes?" Malcolm's voice sounds irritated, but Jo knows that he's nervous, as is everyone.

"There's one name missing which I think should be there."

"Oh?"

"Ruth. I think she has a right to know if Harry is in any danger."

"Be that as it may, Jo, I intend following Harry's request as it's written."

Jo stands for a moment, wanting to say more, but she can see Malcolm is busy, and so she walks away, holding in her words.

Malcolm looks at Jo's departing back. He has every intention of ringing Ruth at the Polis Hospital, but he'll not tell anyone, not even Harry. First, it will be important to wait and see how the day turns out.

* * *

Lucas North hasn't seen his asset, Eamon Oliver, for almost ten years, and the years have not been kind to him. He was always skinny and rat-like, but now his skin is lined and grey, and his hair, in need of a trim, is plastered against his head, as if he'd pasted it on with hobbycraft glue. Eamon wears his usual uniform of faded blue jeans, with navy blue trainers, and pale grey hoodie, the latter of which has a large red `E' over the left breast …... _just in case he forgets his name_, Lucas thinks. Lucas wonders whether some time in the 1990's, Eamon had raided a clothing warehouse, setting himself up for life with casual attire, all of it the same.

"What's up?" Lucas says, as though they hadn't spoken in ten days, rather than ten years.

"I know something."

"We all know something. What makes you think I want to know what it is you have to tell me?"

"This is big. It involves your boss."

"Which boss?"

"Pearce. That MI-5 chap. You work for him now, right?"

"Ri-ight. What is this about?"

"He's about to be taken. It's Ed Tufnell and his gang. They're taking him today. They already have your boss's daughter, and they're telling him – probably already have told him – that if he gives himself up, they'll let his daughter go."

"Hang on …... have you been drinking again?"

"This is true."

"How do you know?"

"I was with them. Honest, Lucas, until last night, I was working for him. I'm meant to be on watch now, but I don't trust him. I don't trust any of them. I might be a crook, but I'm an honest crook."

Lucas smiles. Eamon's unique logic is something he has missed. "Give me a moment," Lucas says, taking out his phone and dialling Ros's mobile. He turns away from Eamon, keeping the conversation private. By the time he hangs up, he is interested in what Eamon has to say.

* * *

"Where's Harry?" Ros says to anyone who will listen.

"He left twenty minutes ago," Jo says, standing by her elbow.

"What? Why didn't he tell me? I needed to know."

"I think he sees this as a private mission," Malcolm butts in, "between he and that Tufnell chap. They go way back, and Tufnell still believes Harry killed his son. Harry didn't, of course. Harry had been trying to save him."

"Can we contact him, then?" Ros asks, exasperated …... and it's barely 9.45 am.

"No. That was one of the stipulations Tufnell made. He's taking Harry to some place where they're holding Catherine. When they get there, Catherine will be released, and then Tufnell and Harry will sort out their differences."

"Spare me the boys' own adventure, Malcolm. We both know that Ed Tufnell wants Harry dead, and I imagine that his last act before he kills him will be to force him to watch as they kill his daughter."

Malcolm says nothing, knowing she is right. He looks quickly at Jo, whose face shows how shocked she is by what Ros has said.

Ros's mobile rings again, and she moves away from Malcolm and Jo as she listens to the words of her caller. Suddenly, she lifts her eyes to Malcolm's, and snaps her fingers in Jo's direction. "Write this down," she says. "Warehouse on Sylvian Street on Isle Of Dogs. Number 17. And a disused carpark in Cranberry Lane, just around the corner from the warehouse. Apparently you can't miss it. It still has a `Parking' sign on the street-side wall. The basement in the carpark is where they're taking Harry. The warehouse is where they're holding Catherine."

"So, it's not to be a swap."

"You never believed it would be, did you, Malcolm?"

Malcolm shakes his head. He knows that the game is now on. "I'll ring CO-19."

"No," Ros says, "I should do that. The timing of that call is critical. If we send them in now, we'll miss collecting Harry. We need both Harry and his daughter alive, and preferably unharmed."

* * *

Lucas North is treating his asset to a cup of coffee in a diner. It's not a place he would visit had he a choice in the matter. "If your information is in any way incorrect, sunshine, I'll kill you myself. You don't ever want to feel these hands around your scrawny neck." Eamon swallows loudly as Lucas raises his large hands in front of him.

"Honest, Lucas, it was true at seven-fifteen this morning when they went to get the girl. I took off soon after. I didn't like where it was headed. Can you get me out of London for a while?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Lucas replies, wondering whether to ship the guy to some place where he can get a decent meal and a shower and shave. "How about Manchester?"

"Manchester? Good. I have family there. You couldn't stretch it to Paris by any chance?"

"Since when has Paris been in Manchester?"

"No, right, of course you can't. I understand, impossible," Eamon replies, keeping his head down, and his eyes on his coffee.

* * *

Harry had been blindfolded the minute he'd stepped into the car, and he is still blindfolded. He's been sitting in a chair, his hands bound behind him, his ankles tied together, and tied to the chair, for what feels like an hour or two. He's asked questions, but so far, he's received no answers, although he can hear the breathing of at least two other people in the room. Judging by the occasional echo within the room, he imagines the walls to be solid concrete, and there to be almost no furniture. It feels cold enough to be underground. He's asked the same question over and over. `Where is my daughter?' Once, someone laughed when he'd asked the question, but no-one has provided an answer.

Suddenly, he hears someone approach his chair, and then he feels a heavy blow to the side of his head. He struggles to stay upright on the chair. Then there is another blow, this time from the other side. That is when everything goes black, and Harry loses consciousness.

* * *

Jo is beginning to feel anxious. She hasn't been given a specific task in this operation, and she is annoyed by that. Why she is being ignored and overlooked, she can't determine, so she gives herself a task. She has some of Zaf's USB drives in a locked drawer in her desk. He'd asked her to keep them in a safe at home, but Jo considers that too risky. No-one will think of looking in her desk, she being a field operative, and not a gatherer of information, like Malcolm and Connie.

It is on the fourth of the USB drives that she finds what she is after. Zaf had had two passports made for Ruth – one in the name of Zoe Turner, and another as Ruth Gordon. That will allow her to conduct a refined search for her friend. The other information which she had not expected to gather was a safe email address for Ruth Gordon.

She hopes with everything she has that Malcolm is not currently using the email facility she is about to log into. If he is, she'll have quite a lot of explaining to do. She could even lose her job. She believes in what she is about to do, even if no-one else does.

It's worth a try.

Firstly, so that she spends minimal time with the email account open, Jo opens her Notepad program, and composes an email to Ruth. She takes around twenty minutes to get the wording right, but when she is satisfied, she cuts and pastes it, and copies it into the email program, and then keys in Ruth's email address, and presses Send.

If she's made a bad call by emailing Ruth to let her know of Harry's situation, then it is too late for her to be changing her mind. What's done is done.

* * *

What Harry doesn't know, with him being unconscious, is that while he is lying on the floor, his legs are untied, and two of Tufnell's men begin kicking him, firstly in his ribs, and then after one of the men kicks him hard between the legs, and then goes back to kicking him in the ribs, while the other one looks on, a satisfied smile on his face.

"What the fuck are you morons up to?" a voice roars from the top of the steps which lead down into the basement. "I don't want the man dead. I told you I need him alive."

The voice from the top of the steps is cultured, a public school accent. Ed Tufnell went to the right schools. He could have worked in the City, or gone into property development. The trouble is, he hates his origins – his businessman father and his barrister mother, both of whom looked down their noses at the less fortunate. Ed's finishing school had been in the mountains which bordered Pakistan and Afghanistan. He wants to change the world, beginning with teaching Harry Pearce a lesson. He can't do that if the fucker is already dead.

Tufnell runs down the steps, and walks up to the two men. "Go and get a stretcher," he says, "then put him on it, but don't make his injuries any worse. When you've done that, bring him to me. I'll be upstairs."

* * *

Malcolm approaches Ros, who is again on the phone to Lucas.

"Alright, I understand that, Lucas, but this must be your call. I can only act on the information your asset has given you. If he's pulling your chain, then Harry may die, and his daughter may die. …... When did he say that would happen? …... Jesus, Lucas, why didn't you tell me? Alright, I will. Get your backside over to the Isle Of Dogs, but give your asset fifty quid, and point him in the direction of Euston Station."

Ros's jaw is set, and her eyes are flinty as she turns to acknowledge Malcolm. "_What_?" she says harshly.

"I think we need to act now, Ros. It sounds like Harry has been bashed. I suspect he's been knocked unconscious, if the conversation I've just heard is anything to go by."

"It's alright, Malcolm. I'm about to call CO-19."

* * *

Harry is trying hard to focus his mind without losing himself inside the pain - which is considerable - when he hears shots. He squints inside his head in order to identify the firearms. _9 mm Glock 17's. CO-19. That's a fucking relief._

Harry again lets go, and loses consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

_7 days later:_

From total blackness, he begins to hear voices, like he's surfacing after being underwater for a long time. Nothing makes very much sense. From total nothingness, there is a distant rattle of voices which quickly becomes cacophonous, as though the source of the sound is fast approaching. He is reminded of the turkeys his grandfather had kept – the constant gabble of sound. He can't make out the words, but he is recognising voices.

He is sure he has heard Malcolm …... and Jo. But he is prepared for those voices to belong to others, because what would Malcolm and Jo be doing here? Wherever here is.

Then he's almost certain he hears Ruth, which must mean it's all a dream.

He hears Catherine calling him, "Dad …... Dad! We're all here, Dad." Harry knows that if he's dead, then so is his daughter. The thought that his job, his actions of so long ago have caused his beautiful, brilliant daughter to lose her life overwhelms him with the most intense sadness.

He feels tears on his cheeks. They are his own tears. _Do dead people cry_? He tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids are leaden. He is so, so tired.

He falls back to the ocean floor, where he can sleep some more.

* * *

He has no sense of time having passed. It seems only a second ago that he heard Catherine calling to him. This time there are no voices nearby. He senses movement. And light. There is light behind his eyelids, and he struggles to open his eyes. He is rising towards the sun's light, but as his face breaks the ocean's surface, he chokes. He can't breathe. He gags and tries to cough, but there is something blocking his breathing. He gasps, chokes …...

Again he hears Ruth's voice. "Help him, please," she is saying. Where is he? Could it really be Ruth?

He hears a buzzing, and other voices drown out the voice he most needs to hear. _If it can't be Ruth, let it be Catherine. Please._

He feels hands on his arms. They are firm hands, confident hands, strong, warm hands. "Harry, we're just removing your breathing tube. We'll only be a moment. Your throat will be sore, and it will hurt to speak, so don't try to talk."

Harry hadn't known he could scuba dive. Maybe he'd learned to dive while he was in Cyprus …... no, he has no memory to match that.

The busy people leave, and there is a gentle hand on his arm. The hand moves down his arm, and grasps his fingers. Harry grasps the fingers back. They are his life-line. He hangs on as hard as he can. He doesn't wish to dive again. Down in the depths it is so dark, and he can barely breathe.

So, he opens his eyes, and there she is …... by his side …... watching him. She is smiling, and then she leans closer to him, and kisses his cheek. Again he feels the tears rolling down his cheeks.

He can cry real tears which cool on his cheek, so he can't be dead.

He can feel her hand warm on his, so he is alive, and able to feel.

Her lips are soft against his cheek, and he would know her scent anywhere, even at the very edge of the world. At the end of his life, as he is about to draw his last breath, his nasal passages will be filled with her scent.

It is she, it is Ruth, and she is here beside him.

* * *

He can't speak, not just because his throat is so sore, but because all the words he wants to say have choked him, and the tears flow freely. When his eyes clear, he can see she is crying too. She is smiling widely, so she must be crying tears of happiness.

He tries to speak, and his words come out in a croaky sound. A nurse is checking his chart, and she leaves the room, only to return with a small whiteboard and a marker. "This might help you to say what you want," she says, handing it to Harry.

The end of the bed under his head has been lifted slightly so that he is partly sitting up. He lets go of Ruth's hand, and grasps the whiteboard marker, and writes one word, followed by a question mark. _George_?

Ruth sees what he has written, and shakes her head. "Later," she says. "It's a bit of a long story, I'm afraid. I'm here because I want to be, Harry, and George is back in Cyprus. Malcolm rang me at work in Polis, and next morning I was on a plane to London. I've been here by your side since they brought you back from surgery."

Harry watches her for any indications that she may be trying to humour him, but there are none.

Again, he writes one word, taking his time, because for a moment, he forgets how to spell it. _Injuries_?

"You had swelling on your brain from a severe beating, Harry. You've been in an induced coma for nearly seven days. You also have five broken ribs, and …... er …... a swollen scrotum, and bruising in the groin area. The surgery was to stop the bleeding in one of your testicles. I'm told your body looks like you were dropped from a plane, but I'm sure that's an exaggeration."

Harry watches her face as she speaks, barely hearing what she is saying, so caught up is he in her presence. He barely pays attention to the words she speaks. _It is Ruth, and she has come to be with me_. The next thing he writes takes time, and he is getting tired, and his writing shows it. _Out of here_?

"Not for a while. You'll have to stay here for another five to seven days. You've experienced brain trauma, and they're going to be monitoring you rather closely. I'll stay here for as long as you need me."

Harry thinks about writing one word – forever? - but knows that they are a long way from being ready for that particular conversation. Instead, he writes: _Catherine_? Ruth smiles when she reads his daughter's name.

"I'll let her tell you herself," she says, getting up, and at the same time, taking her hand from his.

Harry desperately needs her to stay, but he also needs to speak with Catherine, and he knows Ruth will not stay in the room while Catherine visits.

He flops back against his pillows, exhausted and exhilarated. He is alive …... and he is happy that he is.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry quickly slips back into sleep, so that when Catherine walks through the door, her father is unaware of her presence. She sits beside him, and holds his hand. She had been much luckier that he. She was taunted about Harry, and tied to a chair with a stinking flour bag over her head, but she was not harmed in any other way. She also knows that it was the intention of her captors to kill her while her father looked on. She has heard from her mother, who is so angry with Harry that she is talking of suing the security services. Catherine, with the help of Michael, has managed to calm her mother down so that she has gone back home, and has resorted to texting Catherine several times a day, giving her names of possible barristers who may be interested in the case. Catherine knows her mother well enough to recognise that her actions are fuelled by fear, and not by incandescent rage towards Harry. Within a month, Jane will have forgotten about it, and will once more direct her attentions towards Catherine's brother. Her parents are nothing if not predictable.

* * *

When Harry again wakes, hours have passed, but Catherine is still by his side. He finds he is able to speak in a hoarse whisper.

"Did they hurt you?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry," he says, and Catherine shakes her head.

"Don't be, and don't try to speak any more, Dad," she says. "You need your rest."

"Your mother -"

"Mum will get over it. She always does."

After gazing into his daughter's face for a few minutes, Harry again sleeps. When he wakes, it is dark outside, and the room is in half light. He looks around him, and sees a small figure curled up asleep in the armchair beside his bed. He watches her for a long time, torn between spending all night keeping watch over her, and waking her just so he can gaze into her eyes. He doesn't know why she is there beside him. He can't allow himself to hope that she still loves him. It is more likely that her presence at his bedside is motivated by guilt, although he can't think what Ruth would have to feel guilty about.

Harry reaches out with his fingers, and touches her hair. She is real, but then he already knows that. He gently combs her hair with his fingers, wishing he were well enough to bury his face into her neck, and drink in her scent, the feel of her skin. Ruth stirs, and lifts her head. Harry's fingers remain curled around some strands of her hair. She turns her head and places her lips into the palm of his hand. That is not the act of someone who is here out of guilt, and it is then he knows that she sits beside his bed, waiting for him to wake, out of love.

"Hi," she says, smiling.

"Hi yourself," he whispers hoarsely.

Ruth sits up, and he can no longer reach her with his hand. He feels saddened, bereft. He wants to feel her hair and her lips on his skin. He has been alone for too long. Ruth, seeing his expression, rises from her chair, stepping closer to the bed.

"Would you like me to sit next to you on the bed?"

Harry's wide smile is all the answer Ruth needs. Harry is unable to move easily, and is still hooked up to a catheter in his urethra, a feeding tube in his nose, and a cannula in his arm for delivery of pain medication, but with difficulty, he lifts himself a little way across the bed. Ruth sits on the edge, and then turns her body so that her head is on the pillow next to Harry's, and her legs are stretched lengthways. Harry lifts his arm, and curls it around her shoulders.

When the nurse on duty enters the room just after 6 am, she sees the couple lying together sleeping, his arm around her, and her head nestling against his shoulder. She stands for a moment, and watches them. She silently wishes to one day meet a man she could love as much as this woman loves the broken man on the bed. She knows she should ask the woman to get off the bed, and stay in the chair; that is what she should do, as well as explaining to her the dangers of post-operative infection. She doesn't say a thing. She knows that because of this woman's love for him, this man will heal, and heal quickly. Love is the best medicine of all. She's seen it before, and yet no-one during her nursing training had ever mentioned it, and she wonders why.

* * *

Four days later, Harry is eating normally, and is ambulatory, so able to visit the toilet himself, although he still needs some help with showering. Harry's treating doctor, Jacob Cross, has recommended that he be transferred to a private medical facility just outside London for the remainder of his convalescence.

"It's expensive, but the security service will pay for it, and you'll get better quicker, and the quicker you heal, the quicker you can be back at work. I know what you chaps are like."

"What about Ruth?" Harry asks, "And my daughter. Can they visit me there?"

"Of course, and Ruth can sleep overnight if she wishes. They can put a cot in your room for her."

The next time Ruth sees him, Harry is sitting on a bench under a spreading tree in the attractive grounds of Elbert Maltham House in Surrey, a pretty young nurse laughing at something he'd said. Seeing her approaching, Harry looks up at her and smiles, and the nurse leaves, citing a job which requires her immediate attention.

"You're not missing me, then," Ruth says, smiling down at him.

Harry holds his hand out to her, and she sits beside him. "Do I get a kiss?"

"Harry," Ruth says, trying hard to hide her embarrassment, "there are people nearby."

"I'm sure they've seen kissing before. So long as we keep our clothes on, I'm sure they'll not mind."

She turns towards him, and he leans down to place his lips gently on her own. It is their first kiss since Ruth had left London to go into exile. It is soft and sweet, and Harry wishes the kiss could last for a long time. Ruth is the one to break the kiss.

"I have to talk to you," she says, her voice suddenly serious. When Harry backs away from her a little, she grasps his hand in hers, and holds it tightly in her grasp. "I have to go back to Cyprus …... not for a few days, but I have to return to work. I promised them."

"You still haven't told me about George."

"As you know, I've been staying at Malcolm's while his mother is in hospital. He's worried about her, and he enjoys my company, and I his."

Harry longs to say, `But I need you more,' but he doesn't. He watches her carefully, searching her face for a sign that she might be about to leave him for good …... to go back to George.

"Malcolm told me about your visit to Cyprus a month or so ago. He told me that you'd …... seen me with George and Nico. Harry, why didn't you talk to me? I would have loved nothing more than to see you. I've missed you …..." Ruth's words run out, as she sees a look of disbelief on his face.

"Ruth …... what I saw almost six weeks ago looked like a very happy family, and a couple in love. How could I interrupt that?"

"It wasn't as it seemed, Harry."

He pulls his hand from her grasp, and sits back, his back resting against the back of the bench. For the first time, he notices the similarity between this bench, and the benches along the Thames embankment. Harry can't look at her, so he stares ahead, seeing nothing. _Please don't lie to me_, he screams inside his head. Suddenly, he feels the aches in his body – his head throbs, the ribs on the right side of his body hurt, and his balls …... well, they feel like somebody kicked them.

"Harry, will you please look at me." Her voice is curt, like a mother instructing her child.

Harry turns his head to look at her, but he can't smile. Not yet.

"What you saw that day …... and the next day …... was …... it was me really trying. George and I …... we were only happy for a few months. The day you saw us, we'd been having problems for a long time. He'd accuse me of living inside a dream world – which I was a lot of the time – and he had his own alternate universe. He'd suddenly become depressed and sullen, and he'd spend his time alone with Nico, shutting me out. I knew he missed his wife, but I was missing you. We were both trying to move on, but it wasn't working. Neither of us were prepared to share all of ourselves with the other. I know, I couldn't, so it must have been doubly difficult for him, since he and Xanthe had been married for fifteen years when she died." Ruth breathes in and out heavily, thankful that Harry is listening to her. "We were trying hard in that week when you visited Cyprus, Harry. The good feelings only lasted another week before we both again became exhausted with the effort." Ruth looks down at her hands, loosely clasped in her lap. "It was when I went back to work, and Alexis mentioned she'd spoken to you, and that you were looking for me -"

"I never gave that nurse my name."

"How many middle-aged Englishmen with beautiful eyes and receding fair hair would be looking for me? I knew straight away that she'd spoken to you."

"She said that?"

"Said what?"

"That I have beautiful eyes."

"She did. She might be young, but Alexis knows an attractive man when she sees one."

Suddenly Ruth looks across at Harry and smiles. "I tried to find you. When I asked at the Agora Inn, the manager told me that you'd already left, that you'd paid for ten nights, but had only stayed for seven. He thought you were very generous, and that's why he'd remembered you. He also told me that you'd looked sad. When Malcolm rang me at the hospital a little over a month later, I didn't hesitate. I booked my flight that day, and flew out next morning. I'd also received an email from Jo, telling me what had happened to you. Your staff really care about you …... about us."

"So ….. when you go back to Cyprus, it will be for work?"

"Yes. I don't want to leave them in the lurch until they can find a replacement for me. They've been very good to me, and I don't wish to let them down."

"Will you stay with George?"

"No. When I told him I was flying back to London because the man I cared for had been severely injured, he told me that when I return, my belongings will be in storage, and that I can collect them there. He doesn't wish to see me again outside work."

"That's harsh."

"It is. He is just as responsible for the failure of our relationship as am I. I suspect that he feels jealous that you are still alive, while Xanthe is dead."

"How did she die?"

"She had a tumour on the brain. She was dead within a month of diagnosis. He's a doctor. He feels he failed her."

Harry nods, and reaches across the bench to take Ruth's hand. "I'm sorry I doubted you," he says.

"I know. I'd have done the same thing had I been in your shoes."

"When are you going back?" Harry doesn't want to think about her leaving him, but he needs to know, so that he can prepare himself.

"Today is Friday. I need to be on a plane by Monday evening."

"That's only three days."

"Yes, we don't have long."

Ruth slides along the bench until her hip touches his. He slides his arm around her and pulls her against him.

"Doesn't that hurt your ribs?"

"When you're close to me like this," he says, "nothing hurts."

"Good." Ruth smiles against his shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Thank you to the readers out there, and especially to you who have taken time out to review. This is the penultimate chapter of this fic.**_

* * *

By the time Ruth is ready to return to Cyprus, Malcolm has acquired a couple of pay-as-you-go phones – one for Ruth, and the other for Harry – for their private use.

"There's only one number programmed into each of them, so you won't be accidentally ringing anyone else," Malcolm had explained to both of them. "You also have free and unlimited calls and texts, so enjoy."

Malcolm drives Ruth to Surrey on Monday morning for she and Harry to say their goodbyes. He sits in the car, waiting for her, knowing that he might have a long wait, and that Ruth will require his quiet and unobtrusive company on the way to the airport.

When, over an hour later, she steps back into the passenger seat, Malcolm can see she's been crying, and also that she is unlikely to want to talk to him. He is fine with that. Better an uncomfortable silence than a crying woman, in his opinion.

"Thank you, Malcolm," Ruth says as he drives out of the car park and heads for the A3. "For everything you've done for me …... and for Harry. You're a true friend."

"How did Harry seem? I mean physically. Obviously, he'd be upset -"

"Yes, he is. He looks perfectly healthy, but I think that his head injuries require further monitoring for a week or two. The injury to his testicles, too …... it was …... potentially serious, apparently. There was internal bleeding, but it seems to be alright now."

"The operation they performed on that first day was to stop the internal bleeding, so they said. It shouldn't prevent him having a normal …..." Malcolm wonders why he began going down that particular conversational pathway. He hadn't intended talking to Ruth about the subject. Besides, Harry's sex life is none of his business.

"I know," Ruth replies quickly. "The doctor told me he'll be fine."

"That's a relief."

"Yes. It is."

The silence which ensues is comfortable, but is eventually broken by Ruth.

"Malcolm …... can you answer me something?"

"Of course."

"Harry has said that he thinks you are thinking of retiring. Is this true?"

Malcolm is shocked and surprised that his private musings seem to have communicated through the air to his boss. "I'm considering it. I haven't made any plans. With my mother's health deteriorating, well …..."

"I understand, Malcolm, and despite how he may react were you to retire …... I think Harry understands also."

"What about you, Ruth?"

"What about me? I'm not quite ready yet for retirement." Ruth smiles as she looks across at Malcolm.

"I mean, are you planning to come back to the Grid? You will be free to work as Ruth Gordon, or Evershed – both women are free of blemish, I believe."

"Strange as it may sound, I haven't thought that far ahead, and Harry hasn't mentioned it. I expect that some of our phone conversations will be about that."

"After the events of the past few weeks, Harry is worried about having you working so close to him, and being …... close to him personally as well."

"That's the risk we both have to take, Malcolm. It's the price we pay …... either not be together, and be – relatively – safe, but miserable …... or we be together, and who knows what could happen to one of us?"

"I don't think I could ask a woman I loved to do that."

"Harry hasn't asked me, and he won't. He's leaving that decision up to me."

* * *

Harry takes a short walk around the grounds, hoping to walk off his sadness at Ruth leaving, as well as an underlying panic that he'll not see her again. She had reassured him that her return to Cyprus is temporary, and that she intends returning straight to London once her obligation towards her employers is fulfilled.

"I still have to give notice," she'd told him. "I'll be breaking a contract, and the only way to avoid having to pay it out is for me to work until they find a replacement."

"And how long will that take?"

"I have no idea. It could be two weeks, or two months."

"I'll pay out your contract," he had suggested.

"Thank you, Harry, but no. I don't want you bailing me out."

"Why not, Ruth? Don't you want to be back here as soon as possible?"

"Of course, but I don't want to come back to London owing you money."

"You won't have to pay me back, Ruth. We're …... together …... aren't we? Isn't that what we've both been saying this last couple of weeks?"

Ruth had hesitated. She knows Harry is old-fashioned that way, but she's determined to pay her way. "I have to go back to Cyprus anyway, and who knows – maybe they have someone already available to take my place."

Harry knew better than to argue with Ruth. He'd once called her a stubborn old mule for a reason. They can sort this out another time.

* * *

When Malcolm visits next day, Harry is again sitting on the bench under the fig tree. The older man looks up and smiles as Malcolm approaches.

"She got on the plane okay," Malcolm says in greeting, as he sits next to Harry.

"I know. She rang me when she arrived in Paphos …... and then again when she'd settled into her room in the Agora Inn. She was due back at work this morning." Harry sighs heavily, and Malcolm knows that he misses her already. "My next thing is to get out of this place, and get back to work myself."

"You have a head injury, Harry. You have to allow that to heal properly."

"So I'm told. With Ruth gone, I'm bored."

"When are they letting you go home?"

"In two days, and then I have another week before I can again work, and then only part time. I'm only allowed back on the Grid if I stay out of the field." Harry makes a face at Malcolm.

"We all have to yield to our frailties, Harry."

"I know. It's just that I don't like …..."

"Admitting that you have them."

"Precisely." Harry smiles wanly at Malcolm. "Jesus, Malcolm, I'm only fifty-four years old. That's not old."

"No-one is saying it is. It's just that perhaps now you have to take others into account."

"By `others', I'm imagining you mean Ruth."

"I am, yes. I'm sure she'd rather have you in one piece." Malcolm reddens slightly at his own comment, sure it could be taken another way were one to examine the words literally.

They spend the next hour catching up on the goings-on at work, and Harry is even more anxious to be back there.

* * *

The pay-as-you-go phones are a godsend, and Ruth and Harry make good use of them. They create a pattern of communication where, since she is the one working to the clock, and she has to travel to and from work, she rings Harry at lunchtime for a quick chat – which also becomes a ploy for avoiding any possibility of a conversation with George - and then again after dinner. Usually, Ruth is preparing for bed when she rings Harry, and they spend anything up to two hours on the phone. They use this time to reacquaint themselves with one another, since almost two years have passed since they'd been close, and so much has happened in both their lives.

"I imagined you darting around France," Harry says during Ruth's first week back in Cyprus, "and I wished I could have accompanied you. I hated imagining you alone in a strange land."

Ruth hesitates before answering, not sure of how much she should tell him. "It was difficult," she says at last. "It was only at the end of my first week away from Britain that it hit me that this was my life, and I'd better accept it. I spent one whole night crying into my pillow, because I knew I'd never see any of you again."

Harry sighs, guilt weighing on him heavily. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone."

"What else could we have done? You and I together in Europe would have stood out. We couldn't have done it and got away with it. Besides, Harry, you had your responsibilities."

Harry breathed heavily into the phone, wondering how to tell her how many times he has regretted not accompanying her that day when she left, and how empty his life has been since she'd left. "Work is not the limit of my responsibilities, Ruth. I can see now that I also had a responsibility towards you. I really wish -"

"I know. I know what you mean. How were we to have known how hard it would be? On both of us, it seems."

"Yes, it was hard on us both, Ruth."

They both breathed into the phone, something they began doing when the words became too much, and were perhaps better not being spoken.

"Listening to you talk about your time in exile, Ruth, I think I now understand why it was you moved in with George. He has a home, a child, stability. I'm told that's what all women want."

"I didn't know I wanted it until I had it in those first few months with George. I think that it had no hope of working between us because we were each trying to fill a hole in our lives left by the loss of someone else."

They have serious conversations, during which they talk about the long months they spent apart, and they also have light-hearted conversations, and begin to make tentative plans for when Ruth comes home to London. It is during these exchanges that they each have to gradually open those inner doors which have been closed for so long, and share with each other how they see their future.

* * *

Harry is back at work on the Grid when he receives a text message on his private phone which he uses to communicate with Ruth. _The hospital has chosen my replacement. In 5 days I can be home with you. Talk to you tonight. xxx_

Harry sits at his desk and beams at the phone in his hand. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he had not expected that Ruth would ever be free to leave Cyprus. He has thought of them as being always separated by wide oceans and several time zones. He knows his response has something to do with the time he'd visited Cyprus to see her, and found her in the arms of another man. At that time – two months ago – he'd believed that the woman he loved would spend the rest of her life with George, and that he, Harry, would be spending the rest of his days alone. He had not liked it, but he had almost accepted it.

Harry has only just stacked the dishwasher and turned it on when the pay-as-you-go phone rings. He answers it as he pours himself a whiskey, and climbs the stairs to his bedroom. Their evening conversation usually takes place with Ruth in bed ready to sleep, and Harry either eating dinner, or sitting on the sofa, enjoying a whiskey before bed.

They are both excited about the prospect of Ruth being back in London for good. It is understood that Ruth will stay with Harry in his house until she decides whether to live alone, or with him.

"It's a while since I've asked you about your injuries, Harry."

He is sitting on his bed, his back supported by two pillows, whiskey glass in one hand, and the phone tucked between his cheek and his shoulder. The room is dimly lit by the lamp beside his bed. "The head is good, and my latest brain scans showed that not only do I have a brain, but it's in good condition."

"And your ribs?"

"They're only sore when I laugh too hard, or lift heavy items."

"So don't lift anything heavy."

"I don't, and I won't."

"And the other?"

"The other?"

"Your other injury, Harry."

"You're asking how my balls are."

"I'm serious, Harry. You had a serious injury."

"A serious scrotal injury," Harry says, trying hard not to laugh. "It's fine, Ruth, and everything works as it should."

"I didn't ask you that."

"I thought you might like to know, seeing that you're asking."

There is a charged silence during which they both know they have a choice about the direction this conversation will take.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Staying within T rating. (My bossy inner parent tells me I write too much M rated fic.)**_

* * *

Several minutes pass during which they both do no more than breathe into the phone, and wonder how to continue. Harry is relieved when Ruth speaks.

"Are you in bed?" she asks, and Harry detects the nervousness beneath the gentle tone of her voice.

"I'm lying on top of my duvet," he replies, equally as carefully.

"Are you dressed?"

So, now he knows what she has in mind. Does he want this? Of course he does. He's longed for Ruth for more years than he can remember. This could go terribly badly, but he's not thinking about that. His body wants this. It is telling him in its usual way that he wants this. It's just that they haven't yet discussed sex. It's the one subject they've avoided – skirted around – and now they're still not discussing it. _Perhaps, _he thinks,_ this may be the best way in, the best and the most fun means of facing it._

"Shirt, trousers, socks and underwear. Nothing more. You?"

"I have a head start on you. I'm wearing a white camisole and knickers, and I'm under the covers."

"What now, Ruth?" Harry has put his whiskey glass next to the bedside lamp, and he opens his shirt buttons, and slides out of his shirt. Next is his trousers, and he'll need two hands for that. "Just a moment while I put down the phone," he says.

Ruth is way ahead of him. Having Harry's voice close to her ear, speaking in hushed tones, his intent clear, her spare hand is caressing her skin under her camisole. With her eyes closed, she can imagine the hand belongs to Harry. She continues to stroke her skin until Harry again has the phone next to his ear.

"We haven't talked about this, Ruth," he says quietly, running his hand down is chest and under the waistband of his trunks. _God, I wish she was here with me_, he thinks, stroking himself.

"I think that we talk too much, Harry. Sometimes, just doing what feels right is the best strategy."

"Is this my Ruth I'm talking to? What have you done with her?"

Ruth's laugh is light-hearted and gentle. "If you're touching yourself, Harry, just imagine it's my mouth taking you in …... all of you."

That's it. He can hold back no longer. He strokes himself a few more times, and then lets go, his climax surging from deep within him. Harry gasps into the phone, and to the ears of the woman at the other end, it is clear what has happened.

"My darling Harry," she says quietly, glad she had suggested they take this step.

Once he has recovered sufficiently to speak, he talks Ruth through her arousal, his voice close to the phone, and intimate. He enjoys himself immensely, and before long he hears her gasping into the phone.

"I'm really tired now, Harry," she says after a while, and so they end the phone call.

Privately, Harry hopes that Ruth will choose to live with him. He's sure their intimate life will benefit from them being under the same roof.

* * *

Ruth enters the British Airways arrivals lounge at Heathrow, her heart beating rapidly as she looks around for Harry amongst the people waiting to greet the passengers. After a minute or two it is clear to her that he's not there, and she feels more disappointed than she'd believed possible. Of course, now he's back at work, he's sure to be busy.

"Ruth!"

She turns to see Catherine, her face relaxed and smiling as she pushes between two couples greeting one another hungrily. Ruth smiles at Harry's daughter, but feels envious of the two couples who are still lip-locked, despite them blocking Catherine's way through.

"I'm sorry, but you have to settle for me," Catherine explains, when she reaches Ruth, and helps with her luggage. "Dad is busy, and apparently the amazing Malcolm retired two days ago. Who'd have thought?"

"I was hoping it might be the other way round," Ruth says.

"Dad retire? Fat chance. He's a workaholic and an adrenalin junkie, but we wouldn't have him any other way …... right?"

"I'd love it if I could tie him to his office chair," Ruth replies, "but I know how much he'd hate that."

"He wouldn't last a full day stuck in his office. You've worked with him, Ruth, so you must know that."

"How is Michael?" Ruth asks, once they are in a taxi, and on the way out of the airport, heading towards the M4.

"Don't ask. He's talking about marriage. _Marriage_! I've told him about my parents' marriage, and how to chain myself to another is not my idea of a way to spend the rest of my life. He says we'll work it out, but I'm not so sure."

When Ruth is silent, Catherine continues, but with less passion. "I'm sorry, Ruth. You had no need to hear that. My parents were unsuited, or too young when they married – maybe both. I have no desire to repeat their mistakes."

They spend the rest of the journey talking about Catherine's latest film project, and so time passes quickly. Catherine is passionate about her work, and enjoys talking about it.

After a while, it is clear they are headed towards Harry's house. When they arrive, Catherine asks the taxi driver to wait while she helps Ruth carry her luggage through the front door, and into the house. Catherine leaves Ruth with the spare key, and then excuses herself, and returns to the taxi.

Ruth stands inside the front door, her luggage around her, wondering what she should do next. She waits and listens, but the house is quiet. Ruth carries her luggage upstairs, and after opening several doors, she finds Harry's room at the end of the upstairs corridor. Not sure what she should do next, she leaves her bags on the bedroom floor, and goes back downstairs. When she reaches the bottom stair, she sits down, and rests her head on her hands.

Suddenly it hits her that she is back home. In England, where she belongs. She is at once relieved, and saddened that Harry is not here to greet her. She'd rather he were here, but she also knows that were he free, nothing would prevent him being here. Ruth feels tears filling her eyes, and for once she lets them fall freely. She drops her head on to her knees and sobs her heart out. This is one of the most joyful moments of her life, and she is having to experience it alone. She hopes this is not an omen of things to come. Since that freezing cold morning when she and Harry had kissed goodbye beside the Thames, loneliness had dogged her. She had hoped that by returning to London and to Harry, she need never be lonely again.

Ruth cries for herself and for Harry, for the time they'd wasted by being afraid, for the time they'd spent apart when they could have been together.

She cries for Adam and for the missing Zaf, men whom she'd loved like family.

And she cries for herself, for the many nights she'd spent alone, wondering whether she'd ever see England again, whether she and Harry would ever set eyes on one another again.

She cries until she has no tears left, and then she stretches out on the bottom three stairs, and closes her eyes. Just for a minute.

When she wakes, she has no sense of time having passed, so she climbs back up the stairs to Harry's room, slips off her shoes and her jacket, and gets under the duvet, curling into a ball, and sleeps some more.

* * *

Harry arrives home late after a JIC meeting ran four hours overtime. He'd tried ringing Catherine, but the call had gone to voicemail, meaning she was back at work. When he'd tried ringing Ruth, the phone had kept ringing, so he'd hung up. The house is dark and quiet, and apart from Ruth's clutch bag on the hall table just inside the front door, there is no sign that she has arrived home safely. He is not especially worried – just surprised she's not here to greet him. It's likely she had to go shopping. If she is, he's a little miffed that she hasn't rung him to let him know.

He climbs the stairs, and it is only when he steps through his bedroom door that he sees her luggage, and then the shape of her body under the duvet. His Ruth is asleep in his bed, and he couldn't be happier. Harry takes off his jacket and shoes, and climbs under the duvet to nestle next to her. He lies on his side, giving his eyes time to adjust to the dimness in the room. It is twilight outside, and so the house is almost in darkness.

Ruth wakes slowly, and smiles even before her eyes are open.

"How did you know I'm not a kidnapper?" he asks, smiling back at her.

"How many kidnappers do you know who get into bed with their kidnappee?"

"Good point," he concedes, before he leans across to kiss her fully awake.

Ruth leans into Harry's body as he kisses her. He is warm and soft and he smells wonderful – a mix of his cologne, his clothing, the Grid, and just a tinge of perspiration. She shuffles closer, and slides her arms around his waist, pulling him against her.

"Mmm," he says, "nice," and he slowly pulls away from her. "You taste like tears, Ruth. Is anything wrong?"

"I had a bit of a cry, and so I came up here to rest, and I must have fallen asleep."

"What is it? Anything I should know about?"

She hesitates for a moment before answering. "Not really. I was just feeling a bit lonely."

"Not any more, Ruth. I'm here now, and I'm not letting you go."

She nods, and he kisses her again. The kisses are soft, and without passion, but they are both aware of the passion they are holding back.

"The dinner won't cook itself. I left you a note in the kitchen to ring me when you arrived home."

"I didn't get as far as the kitchen. I was exhausted. I think it was the tension from wondering whether I'd manage to get here in one piece."

"No surveillance? No tails on you?"

"None. I checked, too."

"I imagine you did." He smiles at her, running his fingers across her cheek. "I need a shower, and then I'll throw together some dinner for us. If you want a shower, you can have one after me."

"Why don't I hop in the shower with you?"

Harry is already out of bed, and removing his clothes. He lifts his eyebrows in her direction. "If we shower together, we won't make it to dinner, and I'm starving."

Ruth lies back against the pillow and watches Harry undress. He strips as far as his trunks, and then he takes his bathrobe off the hook on the back of the door, and puts it on.

"Spoil sport," she says, appreciating the quick view of him dressed in only his trunks.

"All in good time, Ruth. After dinner …... then ….." He smiles before he leaves the bedroom, and enters the en suite.

Ruth lies against the pillow, listening to the water running, imagining Harry naked in the shower. She thinks of how she was living her life only ten weeks ago, struggling to make the relationship with George work, knowing all along that it was hopeless, but trying harder because she didn't want to spend the rest of her life alone. Nothing could have prepared her for this outcome, and even had she known, she wouldn't have believed it. She and Harry are lucky. They must never forget that. Ruth will not allow them to forget that.

Ruth hears Harry turn off the shower, and so she gets out of bed and opens one of her bags, looking for her bathroom things and her bathrobe. Harry enters the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. She looks up at him and smiles, resisting the urge to tear the towel from him. There will be time for that later.

_Next morning – Harry's house:_

Ruth wakes slowly, savouring the aches in her body, letting her know which muscles have not been used in a while. She smiles to herself, remembering the night before, and how surprised she'd been by how well she and Harry fitted together. She'd considered the risks in committing herself to a man with whom she'd not yet had sex, but she needn't have worried. Harry is a sensitive and gentle lover.

Ruth turns to find the bed beside her empty. She frowns as she remembers he'd told her he had taken the whole weekend off. So where is he? Suddenly, Harry walks through the door from the en suite into the bedroom, and behind him she hears the toilet cistern filling after being flushed. He strides towards the bed, and she smiles again. He is completely naked. For just that moment, she wishes the en suite were twenty yards from the bed, just so she could watch him walking towards her, with all his flaws, his age lines, and his beauty on display.

"Seen enough?" he asks, smiling at her, as he climbs into bed beside her.

"You're really lovely, you know that?"

"You need your eyes tested, Ruth."

He rolls over to face her, and kisses her deeply, so that their limbs again become entangled, like one giant octopus. Ruth smiles against her lover's mouth, feeling him growing against her stomach.

She knows that at times life with Harry will be difficult, and it will often be frustrating and confusing, but she's sure the good times will make the challenges worth it.

_An hour later – The Grid:_

"Jo? I've found the Russians. They're gathered in a café in -"

"That's good, Tariq, but all you have to do is plot their movements, and decide where they'll strike."

"I think I should ring Harry and tell him."

"Harry?"

"Yes. The boss."

Behind them, Ros is at her desk, faking making a phone call. She is listening to her two colleagues, leaving it to Jo to tell the new boy how things are around here. She smiles, one eyebrow raised.

"Harry has the weekend off, Tariq," Jo persists.

"But shouldn't he know about this?"

"There's Lucas and Connie, and there's me …... and Ros."

"But shouldn't Harry know about it? It could be big."

Ros stifles a laugh. "Will you tell him, or shall I?" she says at last.

Jo ignores Ros. "Tariq," she says carefully, "when Harry is having time off, it is our business to respect that. He so rarely takes time off from work."

"But wasn't he recently away from work for nearly a month?"

"He was in hospital, recovering from injuries he sustained at work."

"Oh. I hadn't known that. So where is he now?"

Jo flashes a quick look at Ros, who is being no help at all, smirking behind her monitor. "He's home, resting," she says. "He has a …... a friend …... staying."

"Man or woman?"

"Err …... woman …..."

"Harry has a _girlfriend_?"

"Yes, I guess you could call her that."

"Cool," and Tariq is happy, and once again concentrates on the task he has been given.

Jo turns away from the new techie, and as she passes Ros's desk, she passes her fingers across her forehead in a `phew' gesture. Jo sometimes thinks that dealing with the terrorists is the easy part of her job.

_Fin_


End file.
